


to the victor go the spoils

by rhenna



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Victor Nikiforov, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Competition, Eros Katsuki Yuuri, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Future Fic, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Top Katsuki Yuuri, Yuuri Week 2019, extremely mild scent kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 20:27:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19893853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhenna/pseuds/rhenna
Summary: For a moment, Yuuri is pliant, considers allowing himself to be swept up in the torrent of Viktor’s passion. But not tonight. Tonight there’s a fire raging in Yuuri’s blood, fueled by their fierce competition on the ice, and he won’t rest until he’swon.Viktor had matched him spin for spin, jump for jump, taunting and teasing, poking at Yuuri’s usually well-concealed pride. It ended in a tense draw, and Yuuri is left unsatisfied, itching for a clean win. And Viktor knows it, Yuuri can feel it in the smile against his lips. He’s still goading Yuuri, wants to see what he’s going to do.And Yuuri is nothing if not competitive.(Day 1 of Yuuri Week 2019: competitive, fire)





	to the victor go the spoils

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time writing about my favorite ice gays, I can't believe it's taken me this long
> 
> happy yuuri week everyone!

Viktor shoves Yuuri up against the wall just inside the doorway of their apartment and steals his lips. Yuuri only gasps slightly at the impact, but it’s enough for Viktor to press his advantage, licking into Yuuri’s mouth, hands hastily coming between them to tug at the zipper of Yuuri’s Team Japan jacket. Blood rushes in Yuuri’s ears, his senses suddenly overwhelmed with only _Viktor Viktor Viktor_.

They’re just back from practice, still sweaty and high off the brutal, exhilarating pursuit of artistry and excellence. Yuuri is at once exhausted and keyed up, anxious for something he can’t quite name that skitters just below the surface of his skin.

For a moment, he is pliant, considers allowing himself to be swept up in the torrent of Viktor’s passion. But not tonight. Tonight there’s a fire raging in Yuuri’s blood, fueled by their fierce competition on the ice, and he won’t rest until he’s _won_.

Viktor had matched him spin for spin, jump for jump, taunting and teasing, poking at Yuuri’s usually well-concealed pride. It ended in a tense draw, and Yuuri is left unsatisfied, itching for a clean win. And Viktor knows it, Yuuri can feel it in the smile against his lips. He’s still goading Yuuri, wants to see what he’s going to do.

And Yuuri is nothing if not competitive.

Without breaking the kiss, he crowds Viktor into the opposite wall, slotting himself between his legs. The fire roars higher as he seeks to dominate the kiss, tongue fucking into Viktor’s mouth in a pale imitation of what he really wants to be doing, or what’s to come. Viktor melts against him, making soft, high noises in the back of his throat that go straight to Yuuri’s dick.

He runs his hands down to Viktor’s thighs, roughly grabbing and hoisting his husband into the air and slotting their hips together. Viktor wraps his legs around Yuuri’s waist, breaking away with a sound between a giggle and a whine, throwing his arms around Yuuri’s neck to stabilize himself.

Yuuri smirks against the rapid pulse in Viktor’s neck; Yuuri’s stronger than he looks and Viktor loves nothing more than being manhandled.

Yuuri backs away from the wall, sucking a red mark into the pale column of Viktor’s throat as he carries him to the bedroom, lost in the musky scent of Viktor’s skin and the faint remnants of his cologne. He tosses Viktor on the bed, his husband landing with a bounce, clearly delighted. He stares openly as Yuuri finishes removing his jacket, letting it fall carelessly to the floor. He reaches over his head to grab the collar of his t-shirt, stripping it off in one smooth movement.

It’s rare for Yuuri to be so forward, so self-assured, but that fire is still singing in his blood, his body aching for a different kind of competition, one he’s almost certain he’s already won. He takes a moment to swipe the bottle of lube from the nightstand and throw it onto the bed by Viktor’s feet.

He climbs onto the bed slowly, looms over Viktor. The joyful smile starts to slide off of Viktor’s face, his pupils dilating until only the barest rim of ocean blue remains. Yuuri watches the rise and fall of Viktor’s chest speed up, his breath becoming shallower and shallower the closer Yuuri gets.

Their lips are only a moment apart now, but Yuuri keeps him waiting, likes watching Viktor squirm beneath him.

“What do you want, Vitya?” Yuuri asks teasingly, as though he doesn’t already know.

“Everything,” Viktor whispers against his lips. Yuuri doesn’t move, just stares into those beautiful eyes, waiting. Viktor breaks first, because he always breaks first when Yuuri is like this. “ _Please_ , Yuuri,” he whines. He pleads so prettily. How can Yuuri deny him?

Yuuri sinks down, kisses Viktor fiercely. Viktor moans, soft and sweet; Yuuri greedily swallows the sound, demands more. The fire burns wherever the lines of their bodies touch, but Viktor is still far too clothed, and Yuuri’s track pants are rapidly becoming uncomfortable.

He sits back on his heels to pull at the hem of Viktor’s sweater. Viktor takes the hint and scoots out from under Yuuri, pulling it over his head and shoving his sweatpants down his hips. His cock bobs free, just as pale and beautiful as the rest of him. Yuuri’s mouth waters at the sight. He makes quick work of his own pants and is back on Viktor in an instant.

He ignores his own erection, descending on Viktor’s, his breath moist against the pretty pink head. Viktor whimpers. Yuuri bends further, buries his nose in silky silver hair, breathing in his husband’s scent. Yuuri groans, god, he can’t get enough. Viktor smells like victory and hard work: masculine, virile.

Viktor puts up a token protest—“Yuuri, I’m gross, I haven’t showered”—but Yuuri ignores him, moving to softly mouth at Viktor’s balls.

Yuuri looks up at Viktor through his lashes, taking in his flushed face, his slightly parted lips. He’s propped up on his elbows looking down at Yuuri, already on the cusp of overwhelmed. Without breaking eye contact, Yuuri licks a hot stripe up his length before taking the head into his mouth and sucking harshly. Viktor’s head falls back between his shoulders, crying out.

Viktor’s cock is heavy on his tongue and it tastes like winning. Yuuri loves giving head, it makes him feel impossibly powerful. And Viktor is always so responsive, coming undone from Yuuri’s lips and tongue like a dream.

He takes him deeper, relaxing his throat until his nose meets that thatch of hair again. He stays there as long as his breath allows, until he can feel Viktor’s hips tremble, fighting the urge to thrust up into that tight heat.

Yuuri’s hands come up to press them into the bed, setting a slow, torturous pace, sinking down deep and hollowing his cheeks as he pulls up, twirling his tongue just below the head where he knows Viktor is particularly sensitive. Viktor’s hands fist in the coverlet, a steady stream of entreaties and praises escaping his lips in at least three languages.

Yuuri can feel his own cock weeping just from how wrecked Viktor sounds. The fire is raging and he’s running out of patience.

He takes one hand and grabs the bottle of lube, popping the cap and messily squirting some into his palm. He slicks up his fingers, bringing them between Viktor’s legs. He takes Viktor’s cock down to the root as he reaches down to circle Viktor’s hole with a slick finger. Viktor gasps and jerks his hips in surprise, briefly choking Yuuri on his cock. Yuuri moans, even as tears prick his eyes.

He slips the first finger inside Viktor. God, he’s so hot, so tight. Yuuri sloppily continues working Viktor’s cock until he can feel him start to relax, smoothly adding a second finger while Viktor is distracted by Yuuri’s mouth. He gently strokes Viktor’s walls, crooking his fingers, seeking, until Viktor cries out sharply. _There._

Yuuri pulls off of Viktor’s cock with a lewd pop, replacing his mouth with his other hand. He jerks Viktor off, the sound of his hand slick and filthy, as he thrusts his fingers deeper, twisting and spreading them, purposefully only glancing Viktor’s prostate.

“What do you want, my love?” Yuuri asks again. He’s gloating, he knows, but he can’t help himself. There’s nothing like the taste of Viktor’s willing submission, and Yuuri is overcome with it.

Viktor whines, high and needy. His arms finally give out, head still thrown back and neck a graceful arch Yuuri aches to cover in lurid, bruising marks. He’s flushed all the way to his chest now, and Yuuri can’t help finding him impossibly beautiful like this, completely giving himself over to Yuuri.

“Don’t tease, lapochka,” Viktor begs, lifting his head and desperately locking eyes with Yuuri. “I need you.”

Viktor is a world champion, a living legend, but he _needs_ Yuuri. The knowledge fans the flames of Yuuri’s desire even higher and suddenly he can’t stand being apart from him. This is the only victory he cares about.

He carefully pulls his fingers out of Viktor’s heat, grabs the bottle of lube again and slicks himself up. He kneels between Viktor’s spread legs, teases Viktor’s entrance with the head of his cock.

“ _Yuu_ ri,” Viktor pleads, voice weak, so weak, as he reaches for Yuuri. Yuuri takes Viktor’s hips, pulls him closer as he presses in. Viktor’s hands draw back and fist in his own hair. He moans brokenly as Yuuri fills him in one smooth thrust. His back arches, his still-slick cock bobbing between them.

Yuuri can’t take his eyes off of him. He’s so beautiful, almost divine. Love burns bright in Yuuri’s chest, flares through him, burns him from the inside out.

He pulls back slowly, then surges forward, leaning over Viktor to smear their lips together, breathing him in as he bottoms out again. Viktor’s arms come around him; short nails bite into his back.

Yuuri sets a languorous pace, carefully taking Viktor apart piece by piece, allowing himself to be consumed in the process. He licks into Viktor’s mouth, tangles their tongues together. Yuuri _takes_. He takes every soft sound, every keen and cry Viktor offers up, and steals them away inside of himself.

He has no idea how he’s managed it—average, dime-a-dozen Yuuri—but he’s won Viktor, and he’s far too selfish to ever let him go. Yuuri has won his share of competitions, but this one, this private, sacred victory, is by far the sweetest.

Yuuri brings them together again and again, going faster, deeper, needing to be as close to Viktor as possible. And Viktor takes him so well, receives him so perfectly, so generously. As always, he meets Yuuri where he is.

For all that Yuuri is reserved in words, he loves Viktor fiercely. Every touch is a confession, every kiss a symbol of naked devotion. Yuuri feels himself growing more and more tense, closer to that perfect burning edge.

“Lyubimyy, I’m close,” Viktor whispers against his lips.

Yuuri brings one hand between them to take Viktor’s cock. Viktor tilts his head back with a groan, giving Yuuri the opportunity to mark up his neck. He bites down the pale expanse, writing his love into Viktor’s skin as he fucks into him desperately.

“Come for me,” he orders.

Yuuri feels the moment Viktor does; he tightens so exquisitely around Yuuri’s cock and spills over his fist. Viktor’s cry punches the air out of Yuuri’s lungs, leaves him with only flames roaring in his chest until he’s coming too, surrounded by and suffused with _Viktor Viktor Viktor_.

He collapses on top of his husband, panting into his throat. Viktor, sweet Viktor, threads his fingers through Yuuri’s sweat-slicked hair, soothing him as he lays on Viktor’s chest.

They lay there a while, relaxed and satisfied, until Yuuri softens and slowly pulls out, flopping next to Viktor on the bed. They’re sticky and sweaty and gross, but Viktor turns his head and looks at him with such fondness that Yuuri has to lean in and kiss him. God, Yuuri loves him so much.

Yuuri can’t wait to compete with him again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, for the rest of their lives.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!! feel free to yell at my disaster bi ass on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ohnoitsrhenna) literally any time!


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